A Little TLC
by JamesHowlette1943
Summary: "I am not certain," the kind spirit replied. "I had sent for him, and while were speaking in my office, he seemed to float out from his body. When I managed to call back his attention, he promptly collapsed, and I caught him moments before he lost awareness. His body mustn't be radiating this much heat; he must have contracted quite a strong fever."
1. Denial

**A/N: Hello! I am new to this website, so, if you ever feel need to tell me how I can do better or what I've that might bother you, and you want it fixed. . . constructive** **criticism, please. Thanks.**

 **I have used _Fanfiction. Net_ for forever, but this is my time publishing a story on here. Honestly, it was just a plot bunny hopping around in my head that begged to be written down (or, typed down in this case). But, I mean, what story isn't? So, anyway, try not to judge too hard. **

**There is no slash, no matter how much it may seem so. I am considering making this multi-chapter, unlike my other stories I have written elsewhere, but it will really depend on if I get anymore plot (that goes past what is needed for two chapters), and what this website reaction to this story is.**

 **Now, onto the disclaimer!**

 **Disclaimer: Sadly, neither US History, nor the Hamilton Broadway play belongs to me. That honour goes to Lin-Manuel Miranda and company.**

 **Hope you enjoy; please comment if there is something you'd like to be changed in some way.**

 **Goodbye and Farewell for now, JamesHowlett1943**

* * *

"Burr."

His name echoed throughout what sounded and felt like a cave filled with lanterns. But, somehow, Burr could pay no attention to it.

"Burr."

The voice calling his name grew louder, more impatient, yet still, Burr could not drag himself from whatever deep hole his mind had fallen into.

"Aaron!"

Suddenly, a different voice was calling him, and this one was mere inches from his ear. He gasped quietly, and his head snapped up from its limp position, causing the room to spin slightly and his vision to blacken a moment.

Despite this, years in the military had done him well, and Aaron instinctively answered, "Sir!"

He looked up unsteadily to the front of the cave room, his eyes naturally landing on the judge, seated above him. It was only then he remembered he was in court, defending a murder suspect, and the shouting voice belonged to one Alexander Hamilton.

Wait, there were _three_ judges.

He focused, furrowing his brow and squinting his eyes. The two judges on the side slid into the one in the middle, merging into one, solidified judge.

Oh.

That would make more sense.

"Mr. Burr," the aforementioned judge spoke too loudly for Aaron's liking, and it was clear he was struggling to keep his cool. "I asked you, sir, for your client's full name. Do you have an answer, or do you not?"

Aaron gathered himself as quickly as he could, "Apologies, Your Honour. Our client's full name is Levi Weeks." As he spoke, a sickly hoarse overtook his voice, and he winced slightly in surprise.

"Thank you, Mr. Burr. What does your client plead, sir?"

"My client pleads innocent, Your Honour."

* * *

One quick, unsuccessful court case later, Aaron Burr emerges from the courthouse, a grinning Alexander Hamilton in stride with him.

"Burr, we were quite fortunate to be apart of this case," the younger man said excitedly. "You are aware that we just made history? That was first murder trial of our brand new nation."

"Yes, Alexander," Burr replied tiredly. He was not at all disappointed by recent losses, because the hard evidence was clear as day, leaving no room for argument or doubt. Consequently, the case a taken a total of five minutes, if that.

But Aaron did not possess the energy or will which talking required; his throat burned like acid each time he spoke or swallowed, and his very blood felt to be boiling, despite the near-freezing December temperatures. With every his head throbbed painfully harder; he felt as if the energy had been sucked right out of him.

"Burr," Alexander said suddenly, looking straight at his friend. All traces of excitement had vanished from his features. "Are you feeling quite well, sir?"

It was then the older man realized they had halted, and, juxtaposed to Hamilton's healthy state, he was breathing quite heavily. Aaron shook his head to clear it, succeeding only in adding pain to his cranium.

"Yes, sir, I am fine, "Burr lied; Hamilton didn't need to know that he felt as if his brain might split any given second. Besides, he didn't think it would much matter, if he _did_ know. "Thank you. Have a good morning, Hamilton." He added belatedly, tipping his hat, and departed before his fellow lawyer could respond.

* * *

"Father!"

Burr managed a small smile as he hugged his daughter back. She was only months shy of twenty-two, but still happily conceded to live with him. At least, until she deigned to marry, but Aaron continuously refused to entertain such a notion.

"Good morning, darling," he went to release her, but the grip around his middle tightened almost unnoticeably. He peered at her curiously (for she was the same height as him now; confound growth spurts), "Theodosia?"

His daughter peered back levelly, studying him. Finally she spoke, worry etched into her tone, "Father. . . I fear you've fallen ill."

He cocked his head, "Pray tell. . . what makes you fear it?"

"Well, your skin is rather hot, and, frankly, you look exhausted." He was taken aback, feeling somewhat proud to have such an observant daughter.

Aaron sighed, fatigue covering him like a blanket, anew (a blanket - that sounded marvelous at that moment), "It's alright darling. It will be tolerable." He was not quite, at this point, if he was attempting to convince himself or Theodosia.

"Alright," she said uncertainly, releasing her hold. Her expression lit up then, as if she'd suddenly remembered something, "Father, an aide from Mr. George Washington arrived in the later hours of the morning. He requested an audience with you."

Burr frowned, curious as to what the president would possibly wish to discuss with him. He sighed once again, " Okay, I shall meet with him." He embraced his daughter once more, kissing the top of her head, "Be careful; don't get into any trouble."

A mischievous grin split Theodosia's face, "I promise."

* * *

"Mr. Burr."

Aaron looked up from where he stood, straightening his weak body, "Mr. President?"

"I inquired as to if you realized why summoned you." The older man currently stood behind his office desk, hands clasped behind his back, erect as though he were still a general. In some ways, to some individuals, he _was._

"No, sir, I do not," Burr admitted bluntly, wishing to keep his words to a minimum, seeing as even swallowing seemed to make his throat swell painfully.

"I asked you here because I was concerned about your partnership in court with Hamilton. It is, quite frankly, somewhat troubling that him and you have such a difficult time-"

An unforeseen wave of dizziness hit Aaron like a brick in that moment, and his knees threatened to buckle. He stumbled backward, making a desperate grab for the desk's supporting surface. But it eluded him by inches, and his knees gave in.

Vaguely, over the abruptly dominating white noise, Aaron heard a shout, and he was caught seconds before he hit the floor. He went limp, a rag doll in Washington's arms, and focused on controlling his breathing so as not to vomit.

"Aaron," Washington grunted under his weight, shifting so he might hold the other man in a more comfortable position, "What has come over you?" His voice was firm, with an underline of anxiety, and he could tell the man was withholding panic for his sake. An ice block pressed against his forehead, only to withdraw with a startled gasp, much to Aaron's dismay.

"You, boy," Washington called, most probably a nearby servant.

"Sir?"

The last thing Burr remembered was the president asking the servant to send for someone, then darkness passed over him and he knew nothing.

* * *

 **A/N: Thank you all for reading, I hope it was sufficiently not terrible.**

 **I hope to be putting up the next chapter soon, seeing as I already have it typed out nd edited on my phone.**

 **If anyone is curious: yes, the facts laid out inside of this chapter are true; I did my research. It very fascinating and quite enjoyable to research such topics. Let's just say: I discovered Levi Weeks, the first known murderer in our US History, was an idiot. Or maybe he had thought no one would expect him to be planning a murder, since none had yet occurred up to that point in our nation.**

 **Anyway, thanks again for reading. Leave a review please, so I can modify my writings.**

 **Until next time, Goodbye and Farewell,**

 **JamesHowlett1943**


	2. Lost In Oblivion

**A/N: Thank you to all of you who reviewed my last chapter. It was very encouraging to see that my stories are actually decent enough to read.**

 **I would like to especially mention _Ranger-Corpses_ , for being the first to review. If not for that encouragement, I would have likely left this story to the vultures, so to speak.**

 **I have changed some things from the play, in order to fit my plot:**

 **-Lafayette stayed in America (it doesn't make any sense, I know, but just "bear with me")**

 **-Laurens did not die (because I mean, let's be honest, who _doesn't_ want John alive)**

 **-Mulligan, for whatever reason, is not included in the next few chapters or so. This was an honest accident, not because I do not like Mulligan (he is actually one of my top favorite characters). My apologies, Mulligan fans.**

 **I am basing the characters' appearances neither off actual historical looks, nor off the play. I have deigned to leave that to your imagination. Apologies for such short chapters; it always seems longer when I'm typing it out, because it tends to take so much time to do it. I have this thing where I am constantly editing what I've already written and saved on my phone, until I feel it's perfect. So, sorry. . .  
**

 **Anyway, hope you enjoy, please leave a review if needed.**

* * *

Aaron Burr tossed and turned, unaware if he was awake or asleep. One moment he shivered like mad, and the next he was trapped in an unbearable heat, kicking off anything which threatened to boil him further. He breathed as if there were diminishing amounts of oxygen, and everywhere his body felt flung into the throes of perpetual agony.

Voices surrounded him, and he was certain he was losing his sanity, because the voices made no sense. One sounded like a kind spirit, while another sounded as if it were bored. Another sounded as if it were attempting to keep calm (and failing), while still another seemed to be trying to solve a problem.

"What the hell happened?" the solving voice queried. Searching, fixing hands were roaming all over Burr's body, touching, rubbing, restraining as Aaron thrashed and shivered.

"I am not certain," the kind spirit replied. "I had sent for him, and while were speaking in my office, he seemed to float out from his body. When I managed to call back his attention, he promptly collapsed, and I caught him moments before he lost awareness. His body _mustn't_ be radiating this much heat; he must have contracted quite a strong fever."

"My conviction: he is at fault for overworking himself, and I still do not understand why he failed to inform anyone of his ailment." There was a silence at the bored voice's input. Burr wondered vaguely why this voice in particular seemed to possess an accent of some sort, different from the British one he knew so well.

"I don't believe he was knowledgable of it until very recently," the kind spirit remarked at last.

"Look men," the solver spoke up hopefully. "He's regaining a bit of consciousness."

Burr groaned in pain and discomfort, eyes fluttering open with much effort. He stared unseeingly overhead, where the blurry figures which contained the voices resided.

"Burr," said the panicking voice. "Burr, come now, you must stay with us." His cheek was lightly slapped, and it was then he was caught in the vice-like grip of a coughing fit.

Each hack pitched him forward, shooting viciously at his head. Soon he was laying limp - a sorry excuse for sitting up - on someone's arm, head resting in the crook of their neck. He breathed harder, if at all possible, when the fit elapsed, weakly gripping the soft fabric beneath his shaking hands.

Hot tears streamed down his cheeks, and he could not resist nor halt the slip of his body and of his eyes. The grip enclosing his shoulders tightened as the kind spirit called his name in alarm, desperate.

But he fell back into oblivion.

* * *

"Burr, wake up. _Please."_ Aaron heard the panicked voice, but could not bring himself to respond to the plead. The voice seemed to put far too much distance between it and him, and Aaron had not the strength to close that distance.

"Alex," the solving voice was next to the other, comforting, "he's submerged much to deep into unconsciousness. He'll not be waking anytime soon."

"I know it, John," the voice replied with a heavy sigh. "I just worry."

Burr groaned, another hot arrow of pain shooting throughout his damaged form. Instantly, cold hands touched his face, his exposed chest, solacing, assuring.

"Rightfully so," the solver responded, a slight pause accompanying it. "Take a break, Alexander; it's my shift, in any case."

"Very well," the panicker replied after much hesitance. Another set of chilled hands pressed into Aaron's neck briefly, eliciting a violent shudder from the ill man. Then the hands were gone, and only one voice remained.

Burr let out a strangled sound, one cold vanished, and an ice block rested on his head. Burr's breath hitched, his frame trembling vigorously. Both hands were back now. "Shh, it's alright Aaron."

And the darkness dragged him down once again.

* * *

"Mr. Washington! George!"

The president heard his name ring down the hallway, reaching his office with a clarity and urgency. Before he could think, he was out the open door and down the corridor. Lafayette met him halfway, matching his quick stride.

"What's happened?" Washington demanded.

"Burr had regained consciousness whilst I was conversing with Laurens on his shift. As I recall, sir, you bid you be informed when Burr's state improved in any way."

"Good," Washington replied, nervous for a reason he did not know. "His temperature has decreased?"

"Yes," the Frenchman responded as they entered the room. "Not much, mind you, but yes."

Laurens perched by the couch which they had managed to transfer the ailing man to, whispering to him. The lawyer himself lay prone on the makeshift bed, covered in a mound of blankets and shivering like a man caught in the middle of a blizzard with no coat. Occasionally, he would groan or cough, and Laurens would console him, rubbing his hands over the frame of the older man.

Washington strode swiftly towards the two men, replicating John's posture. Said man nodded respectfully to him, then returned to his previous actions. The president examined Burr, who was squeezing his eyes shut against some unknown pain.

"H'rts," Burr ground out suddenly, his voice barely managing to rise above a whisper.

"What hurts, son?" Washington inquired softly, brow furrowing.

"Ev-everyth-thing," the younger man answered, gasping and teeth chattering. His eyes fluttered abruptly, causing Laurens to stop in a moment of embarrassment. Washington signaled him to continue, however, and the abolitionist reluctantly obliged.

Burr peered around as best he could without raising his head, perplexed, "W-where-?" He cut himself off as his frame spasmed, and a groan could not be stopped when the action sent hot agony to his already sore cranium.

Washington studied Aaron, unsettled, "Mr. Burr, you've contracted a rather strong fever. Do you not recall losing consciousness?"

Aaron gazed up at George, as if trying to comprehend what was just uttered; his expression was thickly muddled. He frowned, dark eyes narrowing, "Mr.-" He coughed hard a moment, "Mr. President?"

"Yes, sir, 'tis me." Washington agreed. "Can you sit up?"

Muscles and limbs seemed to twitch beneath the mound, then, "No, sir, I cannot." I was with no small amount of fear with which he replied.

Washington motioned to Laurens, and the two exchanged places. The former president lifted Burr's torso, slipping underneath him; he pulled Aaron up and back to rest his backside on his own chest, sitting the man haphazardly between his legs.

Aaron's chest was heaving hard, "Sir, I believe I may-" His breath hitched, and he gripped the fabric of his shirt, just above his abdomen. He quickly bent over the side of the side of the couch and retched on the carpeted floor, nothing but a bit of watered-down bile emerging.

Washington's anxiety grew further as he gently pulled Burr back. But he shoved it aside for the time being; he needed to keep his composure for Burr's sake. He asked Lafayette, who been standing on the side, observing, for a canteen of cold water which the Marquis had sent to be collected earlier on, "Mr. Burr, drink; it will relieve some pain."

Aaron trembled as he peered distrustingly at the container hovering mere inches from his lips. He shook his head softly, coughing, "Cold."

"Come now, son, drink. It will help." Washington tried once more.

Burr shook his head again, eyes slipping shut tiredly. "Ice," he mumbled, feebly gripping the general's arm, which had come to rest around his torso, preventing him from slumping down. Washington knew the man was nursing a rather high fever, but it still startled him when Aaron's skin burned against his skin, even through the sleeve's material.

But his face expression lit up, a peculiar idea arising at Burr's words (or, word, in this case). He raised his eyes to Hamilton, who stood in the corner of the small room, lost in thought.

"Hamilton," Washington regarded his friend in a military tone, aware it was only way one could bring that man out of the depths of his mind. Sure enough, the Alexander's head snapped up, "Sir?"

"Come here, we are in need of your assistance."

Hamilton strode over, kneeling, "What can do, sir?"

"Son," the general started started as though unsure of a decision, "I bid you fetch Mr. Burr's daughter, and have a cold bath drawn."

"A bath, sir?" Alex inquired and cocked his head, inquisitive.

"We are need of an alternative to aid Mr. Burr. Are current methods are not creating much progress, correct?"

"Well," Hamilton stuttered, "Yes, sir. Indeed it is not. Right on it, sir." He hastily exited, leaving three men to try and heal another.

* * *

 **A/N: So, what will happen to Burr and the crew next? Worry not: you'll find out soon.**

 **Anyway thank you for reading, please leave a review. And try to be patient, as I am currently continuously burrowing my brother's laptop in order to write these. At least until a get my own laptop, which will be sometime around Christmas, hopefully.**

 **A big thanks once again to Ranger-Corpses: thanks!**

 **I will try to put up the next chapter soon, but I can make no promises.**

 **Ciao for now,**

 **JamesHowlette1943**


	3. Combating Hindrances

**A/N: Heeeeey, guys!**

 **I know, I'm alive, what surprise, right?**

 **Anyway, I have _not_ gotten my laptop just yet, but I was able to finally convince my brother to let me use his while he babysits our two younger siblings. So, yeah! Here I am at last, with the long-awaited third chapter.**

 **But before we get started, I would like to adress a problem someone mentioned: apparently, I've made it confusing as to who's perspective the story is being told from. Um, I'm not completely sure how to explain this particular topic, but I'm sort of doing an omniscient third person thing with the POVs. So, basically, whosever POV it happens to be after each line break, that's usually who it'll be told from. But one sort of has to figure it out based on context clues. So, sorry about that. Thank you for informing me, L.E-Rae. I very much appreciate it.**

 **And as for Burr dying, well. . . I suppose you'll just have to wait and see, hmm?**

 **That being said, onto the next chapter. Enjoy!**

* * *

A blizzard raged around him, submerging him in icy, turbulent waters. It stung his flesh, coating his throat and lungs in a layer of wretched snow.

He thrashed at first, desperate to regain oxygen, but then he resurfaced, and any energy left in his frail body drained.

The strings of his marionette form had been cut short, and he sank back into the numbing cold. Alarmed shouts were ringing above him now. Who _were_ they? He almost didn't possess enough strength to attempt to pinpoint an answer to that question.

Almost.

He forced heavy eyes open, finding himself underwater. He would have panicked again, but a strange peace had befallen him. Then he was being wrenched upwards, and he broke the surface once more, lungs gasping for air.

The voices had become abruptly louder, but Aaron could not quite connect the voices with faces. Then someone slapped him hard enough to sting, if only marginally. Had it not been for that, he would have remained in that dazed place within himself.

He gasped at the impact, coughing momentarily. Voices and faces and sensations were sharp as an eagle's sight now, slicing through him like a double-edged sword: burning and lightning speed.

He cried out, numb and pain and heat and cold simultaneously swallowing him whole. He gripped an arm, digging his fingers into the warm flesh.

"Aaron," Washington called, nearly frantic, "Peace, Aaron. Pray be still."

Burr tried to undertake the request, he truly did, but the water was _so cold,_ and he didn't have a clue as to where he was, and he couldn't breathe-

Hands- warm, gentle, comforting- cupped his face. His blackening vision focused with herculean effort on the blurry figure attatched to those hands.

He didn't seem to be able to discern the familiar silhouette, but they smelled pleasant: like home, and cinnamon. He inhaled deeply, allowing his eyes to slip closed, and his frame to relax, for once. He grappled with consciousness again, this time letting himself to plunge down into the inky darkness.

* * *

"Father."

A voice broke through to his senses, sounding desperate, on the very edge of breaking. It cracked like glass, brittle as thin ice.

"Papa."

That was certainly unusual. He didn't recall being called that in. . . well, he couldn't remember. He channled more effort into opening his eyes now, curiosity dominating yet again.

Something hot and wet had begun a steady drizzle onto his exposed chest. What? Dark orbs cracked open ever so slightly at last, the same blurry figure from before appearing in front of him. Except, this time, it seemed to be lying next to him, snug as can be.

He watched for several moments as they cried, before realization swept over his mind. His eyes widened slightly, concerned, and he manged to move a hand to rest atop the woman's head.

Said woman jerked, surprised at the sudden touch. She wiped red-rimmed eyes, peering up at him somewhat optimistically.

"Papa?"

Aaron dragged his other arm up, setting it too on her head, a makeshift embrace around his precious daughter. He coughed weakly, groaning.

"Papa! You've awoken!" The joy accompanying this exclamation could only be understood by those who fear a near death of a close companion.

Burr coughed again, breathed out precariously, "Theo-dosia."

She was anxious now, "Papa? What it it?"

"Theo- I-I can't- " He could feel himself slipping, and he struggled to tell her that. It frustrated him greatly; why could he not stay conscious?

White noise surrounded him, Theodosia called out to him, broken, then he was drowning in darkness.

* * *

When at last he woke, stably this time, Aaron desired immediately to fall unconscious once more. For he ached all over, and his head thumped as though it were in possession of some horrendous drumroll. He panted, eyes screwing up as he weakly and slowly kicked off whatever fabric was laying atop him, only to begin shivering from the sudden blast of cold.

He would have pulled the blankets back, but he found no energy was reserved within him to achieve this seemingly momentous action. He realized then, with a growing disappointment, that he was alone in the occupation of the bed (was it a bed?), presently.

He tried to move again, but it felt as if his fragile frame had been filled to the brim with liquid lead. So he conceeded instead to lie quietly, contemplating what had occured. He didn't received the chance, however, before a door residing someplace within the room creaked open.

Footsteps, muffled by the carpet, made its way over to his side, and ice block came to rest across his head. An involuntary breath of relief escaped his cracked lips at the cool pressure, for it starved his body of some its relentless pain. The blankets were returned to him as well, resulting in strangely a comfortable temperature coursing throughout him.

A chair sqeaked as the person, whomever they were, settled down beside him. Counfounding his unquenched curiosity, Burr cracked his eyes open, letting them hang halfway.

There, mere feet in front of him, a tall, relaxed figure sat in the chair, sewing something or other.

The man's hair would have fanned out, untamed, behind him, had it not been hastily bunched up inside an elegant silk ribbon. Burr wasn't quite certain how, but the man was dressed differently than he and his companions commonly were. Clad in an elite's clothing; possessing the ability to sew; and the different, foreign aura about him? Was it-?

"Laf-Lafayette?" Burr inquired, weakly coughing when his throat protested at the sudden use.

"Oui, mon ami," The Frenchman smirked, eyes not leaving the task at hand. "Good to see you are at last awake. Did you enjoy your nap?"

"My-? It- What-?" Burr was overly puzzled; he didn't believe he would classify what had occurred as a "nap", per say. In fact, he wasn't sure _what_ he would classify it as. How long had he been indisposed?

He hadn't realized he had voiced the question until Lafayette answered casually, "Roughly a week or so, my friend."

A _week?_ A surge of adrenaline pulsated through him suddenly, giving him strength enough to struggle into a sitting position and begin to untangle himself from the blankets piled on him, in order that he might stand. The ice block, still settled on his forehead, tumbled off, landing with dull _thump_ on the floor. It felt to happen so quickly, but Lafayette was quicker.

He was up in an instant, swiftly dropping his sewing on his seat, and blocking Burr's vertical path. Firm hands appeared on Burr's shoulders, gently pushing the struggling man down.

"Burr," the Marquis said, an almost undetectable amount of alarm creeping into his voice, "you must lie down and rest. You are very ill."

"No," Aaron announced demandingly as he stuggled against the restraint, "I must find Theodosia. Where is my daughter? I swore I would return shortly- "

"Burr," Layfayette interrupted rather piercingly, prompting Burr to cease his struggles, startled. He peered up at his friend cautiously. "Pray be calm. Do you not recall your daughter lying here with you recently? She informed us you had regained awareness shortly after passed out again."

The lawyer frowned, struggling to recollect that moment in time; alas, all that came to him was a handful of muffled words and a blurry figure. "Vaguely," he replied at last. Then a cursed shot of pain passed through him, and he hissed through his teeth, grimacing, and craddled his throbbing head in weak hands.

Lafayette removed his own hands, sitting down in front of the decrepit man. He folded his hands in his lap, seeking to look his friend in the eyes, "Aaron. . ."

The man in question peered up, tears threatening to spill over, "Where is my daughter?" he repeated.

She is currently visiting with the rest of our compatriots. Do you wish to see her?"

"Very much," Aaron responded softly, studying his lap. Lafayette nodded, untangling the blanket and sheets the rest of the way. The Marquis carefully wrapped an arm around the lawyer's torso, his other hand gently gripping his companion's wrist. He pulled the wrist it to rest across his own shoulders, then stood, sucessfully lifting Aaron from he'd been nestled.

The ill man was much too stupified to speak; his jaw was only able to hang open uselessly as Marquis arose. At last, he found his words, "What are you-?"

"You long for the sight of your daughter, yes?" The Frenchman inquired casually. He smirked again, "I had the notion to offer a little to surprise to our companions, as they have not yet been informed you have regained consciousness."

Burr's stunned face morphed into something resembling amusement, and he chuckled, shaking his head. They started off, the Marquis nearly dragging his friend after the discovery of a disquieting weakness in Aaron's limbs.

* * *

 **A/N: Hey, thanks for reading! I'm so sorry this took such a long time, but I was scraping every moment I could on my brother's laptop, and I still haven't gotten _my_ laptop. Thank you for being patient with me, and my apologies once again for killing you all with suspense.**

 **Turns out Burr will be alright after all! Or. . . will he?**

 **You'll find out next chapter!**

 **A shoutout as well to L.E-Rae, for encouraging me so. And, to answer your query as to why I doubt myself: it's mostly because of the fact that my previous stories posted on Wattpad were _atrocious._ But practice makes perfect, yes? So, now here I am, with this amazing story.**

 **Also, in case anyone's wondering, I have absolutely _no clue_ how long I'm going to make this. So, yeah. . . Another also: I am thinking adding something to ****my Author's notes, but it's up to you all. I'll only tell you this: it's educational. So, just let me know in the reviews, or PM me, or whatever you want to do.**

 **Anyway, hope you enjoyed, leave and review, and I'll catch you later.**

 **Goodbye and Farewell:**

 **JamesHowlette1943**


	4. Hope In The Midst Of A Battle

**A/N: Hey, guys! I'm alive! And I finally received my laptop in the mail!**

 **I'm sorry it's been so long since my last publish, but I've been _seriously_ busy the past few days, but here's the next chapter, I hope you'll enjoy!**

 **But, before that. . .**

 **Since y'all have so graciously agreed and promoted my idea for an addition to the Author's Notes, I will comply, and insert it into each chapter, alternatively.**

 **What I mean by alternatively: for one chapter, I will add it to the top of the post. The next chapter, it will appear at the bottom. The next chapter, the top, the next the bottom, and so on.**

 **So, here it is. I call it: Fact of the Day (although, honestly, it _should_ be Fact of the _Chapter/Post_ ). I number them as they get posted, so I can look back and see how far I've come. It will continue into other stories of mine, so you don't have to be disappointed when each story ends. I haven't any other stories yet, but soon (I've some stories saved on my phone, so. . .).**

 **I'll start the pattern at the bottom of this chapter, so. . . "wait for it"!**

 **I'm sorry, that was a cruel reference.**

 **Aaaaaanyways, onto the next chapter.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

The room was companionably quiet enough when Lafayette knocked at its door, shifting his stance to compensate. The door opened moments later, a slightly surprised and very amused Washington meeting the duo.

Lafayette held a finger to his lips, grinning mischievously. Washington's head dipped discretely, expression matching that of the Marquis. He stepped aside, causally retreating back into the room.

The duo trudged inside, the Frenchman ensuring he was the first to be seen. For a long moment, the group of friend's looked at him strangely, bewildered by their comrade's. . . _unique_ position.

Then Lafayette carefully pulled Aaron in after him.

Confusion wove itself within the oxygen already encircling the atmosphere; then a collective breath was released from the room's occupants. Relief and nostalgia replaced the confusion, as Theodosia set her full coffee mug on the closest table, and quickly stood. Swiftly, she strode to her father, embracing him tightly.

Lafayette relinquished his hold onto Theodosia suddenly, and Aaron quite literally fell into her arms. Theodosia stumbled back to compensate for the abrupt increase in weight, and landed as gracefully as possible onto her previously occupied seat.

The roles seemed to have instantaneously reversed roles: the father seeking comfort in the lap of the daughter. Or perhaps simply seeking to hold loved ones close. But an unnatural fatigue overcame Aaron, and he settled his aching head in the crook of his daughter's neck.

Theodosia loosely wrapped her arms about his sideways form in response, a rough correspondence of an embrace initially given. Burning eyes slid shut, and Aaron's frame relaxed, unaware, or perhaps uncaring, of the multiple pairs of eyes peering fretfully at him.

"Father?"

The brilliant woman sounded as she feared she would lose her father, should he sleep again, so he forced his eyes open tiredly. He simply lay there for a time, staring unseeingly at the sleeve of Theodosia's dress for no particular reason.

"Aaron, look at me," surprisingly, the gentle probe which so shatteringly broke the unsettling silence was not Alexander, but rather Washington. Burr still found himself reluctant to obey, however, for he could guess what was approaching, and he certainly was _not_ eager for its arrival. But then the order was fired again, a sterner tone embedded deeply within, and Burr could not help but instinctively face his superior.

Washington's intense, storm-brewing eyes were full of a sadness and determination, the likes of which had had never before been directed at Aaron (not even the most dire hours of the war and the building of their nation, had Burr so bluntly witness the righteous ire and concern of a general towards his soldiers). He had the sudden, strong urge to avert his gaze, but forced himself to keep his eyes locked, permitting a quick flicker of eyes to the side.

"Sir," Burr managed hoarsely, pointedly ignoring the familiar race of fire down his throat.

"Why-" Washington's words failed him for a moment, and he spent several more attempting to gain them back. A strange noise emerged in his throat, and he fiercely wove and unraveled his fingers several times, rapidly. He seemed undecided, or possibly. . . unsettled. "Why did you not tell us?"

"About what?" Another flicker of dark orbs.

"You know full well what, son," George's tone was not unkind. Rather, it was slightly disappointed, pressuring, and very concerned.

This time, Aaron's gaze could not stop itself from changing focus. He studied his palms now, the intricate lines becoming blurry as unbidden tears gathered on the rims of his fever-bright eyes.

He felt as a hot tear made its slow, dawdling way down his equally heated cheek like a determined trailblazer in new lands, felt as it splattered, unhindered, onto his hands, felt as more tears traveled in pursuit of it, and he tasted salt. Something in him broke suddenly, like glass shattering under some great, long-lived weight.

His shoulders shuddered and closed in on him, and then he was sobbing: quiet, hard, and desperate. His eyes screwed up tightly, drops drizzling steadily onto his upturned palms; he leaned further into Theodosia, as if afraid she might disappear.

Instantly, the group was surrounding him, concerned for their friend and cursing themselves for not the abrupt turn of events. Though, they all could agree, there was no conceivable way any of them could have possibly foreseen it.

Hands appeared everywhere, holding, rubbing, warming. Words were whispered in an attempt to console, and many concerned, quizzical glances were exchanged.

"Everyone who-who loved me has- has _died,_ " Aaron gasped softly, breaths hitching and heaving and struggling. "So, why-why would it have mattered, had I told any of you?" And screw embarrassment, screw reputations, screw social etiquette; he had too many emotions and struggles and resentments bottled up, needing to be released. He would not be able to cease the rampant sentimentalities if he tried. And he had had.

But, alas: he was too weak to possess such an immense amount of willpower.

"Aaron, that is _precisely_ a friend's purpose: we sacrifice, we aid, we love one another. It would have made the _world's_ difference, had you told us," Laurens replied gently, rubbing Aaron's arms slowly. "We would have everything in our power to help heal you, just as we've done the past week; just as we're doing now."

Aaron looked up, paying no heed to the thin trails glistening down his hot cheeks. He looked up, and locked eyes with John, and saw pure, immense compassion in those blue orbs. He let out another strangled, desperate sob; he shook his head hopelessly, averting his gaze.

"Son, you are not merely a companion of ours," Washington chimed in firmly as he stood behind Theodosia, and gently took up Aaron's face into his hands, forcing the younger man to look him in the eye. "I believe I speak for us all when I claim you as _family._ And there is _nothing,_ which you will be capable of doing, which can convince us to consider you otherwise."

"Papa, I love you, they love you," Theodosia added after a moment, tightening her grip, and indicating towards the scattered group members. "You have more than you realize. I know Momma's death hit you hard. . . but you must make yourself aware of what you _still have,_ not everything you have _lost._ "

Aaron turned his head from Washington's kind hold, burying his face in the crook of Theodosia's neck. He wept for a long while, letting the hands run all over him. Because it _did_ help, but it did not cease the tang of salt on his tongue.

An eternity seemed to pass before Aaron was starved of tears and sobs and the unbearable sense of despair. His breaths eventually evened out, his body ceasing it trembling, and he fell into a dreamless sleep in Theodosia's arms.

He fell asleep in the arms of his family.

* * *

 **A/N:** **Um, I may or may have not cried as I wrote this, but, anyway. . . who can tell? Hehe. . .**

 **Anyways, thanks for reading, and now what I promised at the beginning:**

 **Fact of the Day(1): To"Delope" is throwing away one's shot in a duel. This would be an attempt to resolve or abort the conflict which caused the duel. "Delope" is also French for "throwing away".**

 **So, yeah. . . that's it until next time.**

 **Also, I want to apologize if the ending was too sappy. Maybe _I'm_ just sappy XD.**

 **Thanks again for reading, leave a review!**

 **Goodbye and Farewell, for now:**

 **JamesHowlette1943**


	5. Insomnia and Laughter

**A/N: Sorry, everyone, for the long, painful wait. I'm okay, I've just been really busy, what with school, and the super-bowl. Not to mention I just _happened_ to get a writer's block at the _perfect_ time. So, you know how fun that can be.**

 **Anyway, I finally was able to drag myself out of that _wonderful_ stupor.**

 **Here I am again, now with the last chapter of this story. Don't worry, though; more is to come, for other fandoms. As soon as I finish this one, I have many more waiting to be publicized.**

 **I don't remember if I had mentioned before, but this story is very strongly based upon the line from "Wait For It": "And if there's a reason I'm still alive when everyone who loves me has died, then I'm willing to wait for it." It gave me inspiration, and prompted me to wonder: What is the deeper, more serious part of this statement? So, I researched the topic, and constructed a story along the way.**

 **Did I do The Fact of the Day on the last part of the last chapter? Oh. . . yeah, I did. Okay, so here's a Fact of the Day for this chapter.**

 **Fact of the Day(#2): The name Loki, from Norse Mythology (and, yes, Tom Hiddleston's alter-ego) means, roughly, "to break" (I think that would be a perfect description of him, if it was him being broken), possibly derived from the Indo-European root.**

 **There's that, and now onto the chapter; enjoy!**

* * *

His eyes lazily followed the spider as it spun its intricate web on the rafters of the ceiling. The creature presently paused, as if to catch its breath.

Then it began to laboriously weave its dwelling again, slowly and minutely. Aaron wondered suddenly if spiders ever fell to temporary depression, knowing they would exhaust the night creating their _home,_ only to have it destroyed when someone or other inevitably dusted it away, or walked through it accidentally.

He turned onto his side, focusing instead on his quick, steady breaths. Heaving a slow, quiet sigh after a moment, he closed his eyes and tried once again to surrender himself to sleep. Alas, it was in vain; but it seemed to have come to him so easily the past week, so why did he struggle so, especially when his eyes burned wretchedly, begging to be allowed rest?

His infernal mind spun out of control, in the background, like prominent white noise, refusing to abandon its furious workings. He had ventured to declutter his thoughts, but it had proved to be overwhelmingly impossible when he didn't have something else to do physically. It made his head throb, anyway, and his body already ached. He lay in nearly palatable silence for several lead-footed moments. Finally, with passive frustration, he rose carefully from where he lay, and shakily walked the few feet spanning between his friends and him.

The companionable group, even Washington (who likely had presidential matters needing immediate attention), had essentially set up camp in the room Aaron was currently occupying, until he regained enough of his strength.

Hamilton and Washington lay near the foot of his bed, Lafayette and Laurens fanning out closely behind them. Burr had insisted they retreat to their own rooms to rest, but was met with unanimous refusal. Unfortunately, however, Theodosia decided to return home, so as be certain nothing had gone amiss, and all was well.

Frankly, Burr headed straight to Hamilton because he happened to be nearest, and a light sleeper, or so he had heard from his wife. And, if he wouldn't be allowed the sweet embrace of sleep, he needed someone of equal intellect to accompany him, otherwise he'd likely go mad.

He sat unsteadily on his heels, wrapping a blanket about himself as he shivered slightly.

"Alexander," he called hoarsely, scarcely loud enough to be classified as normal volume. When no answer greeted him, he called the his name once more, shaking his friend's shoulder, "Alexander."

"Mmm?"

"I- I can't. . ." he trailed off, voice cracking in frustration. He loathed voicing his weaknesses, though he daren't deny he had many; it made him feel as if he was not even control his own person. He inhaled slowly, speaking softly and casting his eyes downwards, "I can't sleep."

Hamilton rolled over to face him, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. He studied his friend for several moments, and Burr felt his face began to burn in embarrassment. His pulse sped up, and pulled the blanket closer as he shivered.

"Why not?" Alexander inquired at last.

"I don't know!" Aaron exclaimed softly, balling his fists and glaring at the ground with vexation. "My- my mind, it. . . it will not leave me in peace. It is _constantly_ reeling, and I am not knowledgeable of any way to still it.. it has always done that, since I am able to recall."

Hamilton nodded in consensus, humming thoughtfully, "Mind mind does that as well. . . but I have typically have no trouble sleeping after an hour or two. Perhaps you have insomnia, Aaron."

Aaron blanched, "Insomnia?" He'd heard of the disorder, of course, but he never actually had a good reason to research it further than what he already knew, which wasn't much. He certainly did not have any reason to foresee that he himself might posses such a thing, "Is there a cure?"

Alexander frowned sympathetically, "Not that I am aware of."

Aaron's expression fell, dropping all hope on the floor like a sack of potatoes, as his shoulders sagged and his posture dipped. A sob, begging to be released, formed at the base of his throat. He swallowed the lump painfully.

"But. . . there is, conceivably, a temporary solution. . ." Hamilton added quietly. "Perhaps sleeping in another's company might help."

"He _is_ right, Aaron," a hushed voice said behind him. Burr whipped around, to see George Washington rolled over on the floor as well, and watching them fondly, "Before I married Martha, I hardly _ever_ slept."

Burr was silent a moment, torn between alternatives: cuddle with his friend (no, not friend, for he was essentially his surrogate father) and sleep decently for once, or retreat to his own bed and avoid potential embarrassment. He sighed sadly, uncertain, "I. . . I suppose I- "

Before Aaron could register what was happening, however, Washington reached forward, wrapping an arm around the lawyer's waist. Then Aaron was being pulled backwards carefully, blanket and all, and suddenly he was laying beside the older man, his back pulled protectively against George's broad chest. Washington pulled the covers over Aaron's form, and positioned one arm beneath the younger man's head as a pillow, while the other tightened about his torso as a supportive gesture.

"Since we are all aware that Mr. Hamilton kick in his sleep," Washington whispered into his ear, chuckling and squashing a noise of protest from Alexander, "you shall sleep with me this night."

Aaron squirmed in the comforting embrace, objecting fiercely as his cheeks burned again, "No, sir, please; I could not stand to inconvenience you-"

"I assure you, son: I am by _no_ means inconvenienced," Washington cut in firmly, his steely tone swiftly stilling Aaron's protests. His dropped to a gentle, fatherly degree, and he increased his grip marginally, "Now sleep, Aaron."

Aaron swallowed, face still a deep scarlet, but relaxed, letting out a long breath he hadn't known himself to be withholding. Grudgingly, chocolate eyes were allowed to slip closed, and Aaron collapsed at last into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

"Be _careful."_

"I _am,_ Alexander."

"I disagree, Aaron. You nearly tripped over a thread in the carpet."

"I must say, you two are quite amusing."

Burr and Hamilton glared at Lafayette from across the room as he continued to smirk in answer, unfazed.

"Hush, Marquis," Washington rescripted, though he himself appeared to be waylaid mere moments from laughing.

Another double glare was directed at the president; alas, he simply shrugged in answer, grinning broadly.

The friends presently sat, scattered arbitrarily about the small expanse, interchanging support as Aaron stumbled uncertainly, gradually regaining his strength. And it was Alexander's turn. Said man grasp his fellow lawyer as they trudged along slowly, supporting him as if they were soldiers injured in combat. Finally, after several minutes, Alexander deigned exercises to be be sufficient for the moment, and helped Aaron to settle upon the nearest chair.

Comfortable, contemplative silence filled the room for several minutes, broken solely by Aaron's heavy breathing as he fought to even his heaving chest.

"How do you fare?" Washington inquired at length, studying intently the man before him.

Aaron heaving a wheezing sigh, but grinned all the same, "I feel as if I have been trampled multiple times by a dozen hefty, healthy horses. But other than that, I must admit I feel quite well, and exponentially stronger."

"Excellent," Lafayette chimed in, smirking. "Perhaps shortly you may very well be able to stand on your own, and maybe even walk."

"Oh, hush. . . _Gilbert,_ " Aaron replied, grinning teasingly.

"So," Laurens piped up, before Lafayette could retaliate, "who's hungry?"

There were murmurs of agreement, and Washington nodded, "Dress yourselves in your greatcoats; we shall sup outside. Mr. Burr could make some fine use of some fresh air, in any case."

Aaron was helped into a few coats, before being pulled carefully up, in order to be taken out the door. But suddenly Washington hoisted Aaron into his arms, and stepped from the threshold in one fluid movement. Aaron squirmed in the secure grip, " _Sir!"_ He blushed hard, eliciting a burst of laughter from the others, and they followed the grinning president.

* * *

Some time later, the group was sitting in a circle on the grass in the nearby pocket of woods, eating sandwiches, among other aliments, and drinking whiskey.

"I had not realized how neglected my stomach had become recently," Aaron remarked, munching lightly on a softly-yellow apple as he leant wearily against a treeto support himself.

"Does Theodosia bear any interesting news?" Alexander queried, holding a aloft a bunch of grapes.

Lafayette nodded, swallowing, "Evidently, she has happened upon a canine companion, and asserts she shall refuse any request to part with it. She has, indeed, already dubbed the small creature with a name."

"Has she now? I recall specifically instructing her to _avoid_ any trouble while I was away," Aaron replied, coughing lightly as he laughed. "Let us hear the name for this dog, then."

"Cooper," The Marquis laughed, shaking his head in amusement.

"I suppose I shall find need to care for it, then. For Theodosia's sake."

Presently, everyone raised a glass, toasting. "For Theodosia's sake!" the friends cried in chorus, clinking their cups together. A round of nostalgic chuckling ensued, merging at length into a comfortable silence.

At last, Washington inquired, "I presume, after we conclude our meal, you shall wish to return and rest once more, Aaron. I can imagine all this excitement has made you rather-"

His voice faltered; all fell silent. The accumulation of gathered eyes traveled to the president in curiosity, then on Aaron, whom Washington was now smiling kindly at, and then all lips turned upwards with him, in relief and sympathy.

Aaron had fallen asleep against the strong the strong tree. His lips were parted slightly, head tilted back against the trunk. One of his hands lay limply across his lap, the other loosely clutching his apple, and laying alongside its partner appendage. His breaths wheezed somewhat, quick but healthfully steady. He was peaceful at last.

The friends resumed eating and chatting quietly, a certain atmosphere of respite and contentment about them. The sun smiled upon them softly, the birds chirping in their unique language. The breeze tossed the grass and leaves about gently, creating a small whisper of nature which surrounded them, filling their senses.

The world had turned upside down, but the friends had learned to stand confidently upturned with it.

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks again for reading, and sorry again for the long wait.**

 **I have completed this story, but I have more on the way.**

 **Also, for any who may be curious, I inserted the insomnia bit because I am fascinated by things like that, and the moment I discovered the fandom had created the idea that Aaron had insomnia, I grasped it tightly as I could. I loved the idea of Aaron having insomnia, so I decided to incorporate it into this last chapter.**

 **Anyway, leave a review, and a big thanks to all my faithful, encouraging readers.**

 **Goodbye and Farewell for now,**

 **JamesHowlett1943**


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